Christmas without Ava
by Karla ° Wednesday, November 30, 2005
Christmas has always left me with a warm and fuzzy feeling. Something about the season just brought a feeling of peace and contentment like no other time of the year. It’s a time to rejoice with family, share special gifts, decorate a giant tree and indulge in goodies and hot chocolate until the waist band on our pants tells us to stop.

Despite the hustle and bustle of shopping, baking and visiting friends and family, tranquility and harmony always managed to arrive at my doorstep and keep me placated when the ambiance of the Christmas season was in the air.

This year is different. Very different. Visions of our child staring in wonderment at sparkly Christmas tree lights, or cooing and giggling while Rudolf sings about his shiny red reindeer nose have been crushed. Warm and fuzzy feelings have been replaced with emptiness and sorrow as the arrival of the so called season of magic and merriness fall upon us.

I’m actually tremendously embarrassed at my inability to dig deep inside myself to find that sense of joy and happiness I’ve worked so hard at pursuing and clinging to since my baby passed away. I’m discomfited that my will and strength to move forward has seemingly screeched to a grinding halt. There was no warning, time to prepare, or even a moment of clarity when I sensed this shift in mood and perspective happening.

I know I have much to be thankful for. I have a wonderful husband who loves me fiercely and dearly. I have an amazing family who cares deeply and sincerely for me. I have the most astounding and heartwarming circle of friends a woman could ever hope for. Yet, despite everything wonderful in my life, the loss of my baby, the tiny little life I had yearned and dreamed of, wanted to love and nurture, tickle and hold, kiss goodnight and tell stories to, makes me clutch to an overwhelming darkness and shadowy sadness where feelings of joy, warmth and merriness seem erroneously out of place.

My growing sadness is taking its toll. I’m always tired, the scales show I am too thin, I sleep too much and am too weak to even attempt my passion for running anymore. There’s emptiness in my heart that nothing can fix, and I’m mystified about how to make it better.

Putting up the tree this year was difficult. Despite powerful memories and feelings of isolation and sadness without Ava here to share in our seasonal traditions, we purchased an ornament for her. Angel wings encrusted with faux diamonds (her birthstone) seemed most suitable. We also bought a jewel encrusted picture frame to hang where her angelic and perfect little baby face could be treasured and cherished on our Christmas tree.

I just wish she was here to experience the magic of this season. There’s so many things I wish she would have had the chance to relish in, but Christmas, a time of sharing, giving, magic and wonderment, is something no child deserves to miss.

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I have a bladder infection.
by Karla ° Monday, November 14, 2005
When I pee, the sensation I feel can only be described as something along the lines of the burning inferno of hell residing inside of my vagina. The devil himself has decided to make his nasty ass comfortable inside my private place and perform sacrilegious satanic acts that breathe fiery hell causing pain when I pee.

As I am sure you are well aware, the most common cause of the searing pain involved to empty your bladder when you have a urinary tract infection is generally related to sex.

I found that out the hard way. My mom told me. When I was supposedly not having sex.

Ten years ago, at the tender age of 16, my boyfriend (now husband) and I decided to embark on a romantic getaway to Sudbury, Ontario. This six hour drive for a weekend sex getaway was cleverly disguised as an intellectual opportunity to visit a science centre and expand our teenage minds to intellectual stuff. Truthfully, we both lived at home and a romp in the hay was damn near impossible with the parents around. Somehow our parents bought our asinine sales pitch and we were on our way to spend the night in a sleezeball hotel where a free breakfast consisting of stale pastries and bitter coffee would complete our scandalous evening of awkward teenage sex.

(Dear god, remind me why it is that I want children so badly)
We returned home in one piece, complete with retarded grins lacing our guilty faces, satiated with our devious little voyage. Little did I know, I was about to experience the wrath of my sinful getaway to "do the nasty". Soon after unpacking, I found myself screaming blood curdling obscenities while gripping the toilet with enough force to rip the plumbing right of the floor. While peeing razor blades and fire out of my vagina, I realized I was experiencing my first bladder infection.

Ten years later, (a.k.a. last weekend) I found myself at a church fair helping a dear friend with her crafty endeavors. After several coffees, a visit to the toilet in the church basement found me using the lords name in vein as the happy crafters bumbled around upstairs buying tasty Christmas treats, while I cursed the terribly boring apple butter guy and his dumb ass sales pitch about not spraying his wormy apples as my coffee filled bladder emptied and drained through my debilitated urethra. For a moment, I thought the universe was trying to punish my unchristian beliefs for even stepping foot on holy territory after all the contradictions and adamant vocalization about evolution and carbon dating I have been so vocal about for all these years.

In an attempt to validate my pain, I tried to remind myself that not so long ago my vagina had dilated itself to 7 cm in an attempt to push a human out of it, but in the heat of the moment, even the thought of pushing a human head out of me sounded more pleasant and appealing that the burning hellish pain of urinating pee the temperature of hot searing coals.

To find relief, I found myself waiting five and half (yes 5 ½) hours in an emergency room to get a prescription to handle my “issue”. I’m just glad that my husband was there to keep me company the entire five hours. Even though he is wonderful, caring and sympathetic like that, deep down, something tells me his compassion and support has more to do with his future sex prospects. For the time being, Mr. Happy has been black listed until I am all better, and under no circumstances will this cow girl ever be performing her duty in the reverse position ever again.

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by Karla ° Thursday, November 3, 2005
I think I should start this post by offering my apologies for the lack of posting and commenting, and less than vague reasons for my absence. In my own defense, I have a good reason for my extended hiatus.

I have quit my job. I’m an unemployed nobody, and truth be told, I have never felt better. I had the inevitable task of making my resignation finally official looming over me while on Maternity leave the past few months, and it’s finally done (and so is my Maternity leave at the end of November).

In an attempt to be gracious when handing in my resignation, (translation: keep boss as a future reference), I explained that my decision wasn’t an easy one, but after much consideration, I decided to pursue new opportunities. I even offered my sincere thanks for the opportunity to grow and learn in such a challenging career. Really though, if you read between the lines and remove all the politically correct mumbo jumbo, what I really meant to say was that I was extremely unhappy in my role and the overall culture at that company. After five years, it was time to regain control of my job satisfaction and move on. I should have done that a long time ago, but money, the prestige of the organization and position and lack of self dignity to put the balls back in my court clouded my judgment.

Despite being officially unemployed, it feels great. The freedom to be and do whatever I want is very empowering. Already, within a couple of days of putting my resume on Monster, I have had some bites and sparks of interest from head hunters and have landed myself a meeting with one tomorrow.

If there is only one thing I need to complain about being unemployed, it’s that holy mother of all things pitiful and lazy, I haven’t worked since April! APRIL! I am so out of the loop and so far out of the game that I’m not even sitting on the sidelines anymore. My business suits smell like moth balls, (but thank god they fit my expanded ass and non existent waist line). My mouth has become lazy and I say “like” like I’m a bouncy little teeny bopper and I need to like stop it because like, it’s so not business speak. I’ve become frumpy, slouchy, impassive and way too cutesy and squashy. To smooth over my rough edges I’m going to have to dig out my happy clam suit with its tough outer shell and big toothy fake grin to make it in the world of business again.

To top everything off, I feel about as graceful and eloquent as an elephant in my heels, skirt and suit. I’m praying that the business grooming fairy godmother visits me tonight and transforms my stuttering, raggedy self into a graceful swan with all those necessary qualities to own and interview and knock my future employer’s socks off. In the unfortunate event that she’s a no show, I’m banking on the idea that wearing a flirty skirt and showing some leg will help.

I want to make a career change. Of course, being a mom is my top priority, but that just isn’t an option right now. In the interim, I need to do something with my life, and that something involves moving away from web and database development. I want to focus more on the business system analyst role when it comes to technology driven solutions. My resume is all shiny and new and updated with enough spin on my past accomplishments to hopefully pull it off.

I have come up with a little mantra that I keep saying over and over in my head. I’m quite nervous about all the change in store for me, and I find repeating this little gem over and over again to be sort of comforting, in a strange and oddball sort of way.

May the powers that be make sure I don’t make a complete jackass of myself.
May the powers that be make sure I don’t make a complete jackass of myself.
May the powers that be make sure I don’t make a complete jackass of myself.


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